


In case you lose your way

by queengabby



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Comedy, Coping, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, F/M, Gossip, Light Angst, Post-Black Panther (2018), Reader has a dog named Captain and it's good I promise, Slow Build, Small Towns, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 23:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13821915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queengabby/pseuds/queengabby
Summary: "'What’s your name, son?' one of the older fishermen asks him.His chest is heaving, and he’s shaking like a leaf. The chill of the air feels familiar, but there’s a taste of salt he doesn’t remember. 'Bucky,' he whispers. Two of the other fishermen throw a heavy blanket over his shoulders. The wind chases the water droplets on his skin until it feels like ice. 'I’m Bucky.'"You're home for the summer when the locals start buzzing about a man who washed up on shore.





	1. Come in the water

**Author's Note:**

> [come in the water//barr brothers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QBcqFqS7llE)
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> sorry I can't finish a damn thing to save my life but I've been meaning to write bucky fic foREVER...and probably peter parker fic, idk my heart is pulled in so many directions!!!! help me!!!
> 
> [questions or requests? ask here!](https://comedy-witch.tumblr.com/)

**June**

 

He washes up near the coast at the end of the salmon season. It isn’t uncommon for seaside folks to come across bodies in the water – some poor sod slips and falls on the rock, knocking himself unconscious until the tide brings him back in – it happens more than people may think. The chances of them being _alive_ though, that’s what gets the town talking.

It takes five fishermen to haul him onto the deck of their tiny boat. One of them had spotted the glint of blue and metal in the water, and realized it was attached to a man. It took a few well-placed elbow hits to get his lungs working again, and although there was panic that raced across his features when he first opens his eyes, his body was too exhausted to fight the help.

“What’s your name, son?” one of the older fishermen asks him.

His chest is heaving, and he’s shaking like a leaf. The chill of the air feels familiar, but there’s a taste of salt he doesn’t remember. “Bucky,” he whispers. Two of the other fishermen throw a heavy blanket over his shoulders. The wind chases the water droplets on his skin until it feels like ice. “I’m Bucky.”

 

-

 

In the second floor of the town library, the light in a microfilm reader hums to life. You gently place the microfiche card into the machine and slide the magnification nobs until the text is clear. It’s another article on cod fishing in the coastal regions – one of many you’d come across in a large container from the library’s basement. You sigh, a bit disappointed it’s not something new.

This has been your summer project for two and a half years. Though you’ve always loved history, your town library has been a disorganized mess for as long as you can remember. It doesn’t exactly inspire you (or anyone else for that matter) to use the facility. Growing up in such a small town is a boon and a bane, because mentioning your interest in helping archive the library’s books and files to your parents becomes the newest gossip to find its way to the mayor’s office.

Thus, you’re paid a student’s wage to clean up the library and get it back into working order. It’s a decent gig – no scratch that it’s a _great_ gig. You can listen to music as loud as you want, and you can even bring your dog in for company. There’s an apartment in the third floor that you’ve made practically your second home – though it does cause occasional cabin fever.

The only person who could say otherwise to your new digs is the mayor’s executive assistant, and she’s more than happy to leave you to your own devices. You suspect she’s kept busy with the recent tourist commission enacted to help out towns like yours in economic slumps.

You stand up from your desk, taking a sip of coffee. Captain, your Portuguese water dog, is snoring loudly on the rug. You carefully step over him to bring your mug upstairs to the kitchen.

You pull the blinds at the sink’s porthole window and peer out at the ocean just as the phone rings. You pick up the landline near the stovetop, “Hello?”

“Hey sweetheart,” you hear your dad’s voice say, “it’s getting busy – could you come help out for the dinner rush?”

“Can Captain come? I’m just in the midst of feeding him now.”

“No troubles, bring him along if you like, oh wait, dammit I completely forgot!” he quickly amends as you give Captain his dinner.

“What? What’s the matter?” you ask, and you hear the distant sound of dinner plates before he returns to the phone.

“Sorry sweetheart I was asking the new boy if he’s allergic.”

“Who’s the new boy?” you blink, genuinely shocked. Your town was home to a population of less than a hundred people. There’s no such thing as _new_ people. “He’s allergic?” you ask.

“He’s not, no. He’s been here for a few days.”

“Is that the boy you were mumbling about over the phone with mum?” you accuse playfully. Your father had called your mother over the weekend to ask for her medical advice on a boy who’d been found in the water. Your mother is a surgeon at the hospital in the city, and often stays in residence during the summer to deal with the influx of visitors and what she refers to as ‘party boat incidents’.

“Yes that’s the one. Sorry, I didn’t know if he was gonna make it at the time so I kept it to meself. He’s right as rain now – quiet lad, though.”

“Alright, don’t suffocate him papa or we’ll never get another visitor!” You smile, “I’ll see you soon.”

 

-

 

            Your father was right, the restaurant is packed with fishermen who came back from a recent catch.

            Captain’s tail is wagging back and forth as the two of you make it to the front door. As you’re about to reach the handle, the door swings open instead.

            “Good evening!” one of the locals greets you with a smile, two gentlemen behind him chirping out their welcomes in unison. Though you don’t know their names, you recognize their faces immediately, and give them a wave before making your way inside.

            “Captain, go sit please,” you tell your dog, and he gives a quiet ruff in reply, making his way over to the fireplace in the lounge.

            “Hey sweetheart!” your father calls from behind the counter, “Barbara came in to help out, but she can only cover so many tables. Mind taking the ones near the window?” he asks over the crowd of men swarming him for refills.

            “Sure thing!” you call back, grabbing a spare waiter apron as you go around the entrance booths. A few more neighbors greet you as you make your way past their tables, and sometimes when you’re studying in the city, you forget what it feels like. It’s different here – it’s small and cozy and you _recognize_ the faces. You don’t think you could spend your summers away from it.

            And that’s probably what makes him easy to spot – because he’s the only one who doesn’t immediately smile when you walk over to the table. Your father’s idea of a boy are much different than yours. Five o’clock shadow didn’t exactly scream ‘youthful’ to you.

            He’s sitting with three other fishermen crowded in a booth, who all make a ruckus when you greet them.

            “Alright boys, no need to shout,” you laugh, “You get drinks yet? Wait long?”

            “Just sat down,” an older fisherman says, his hair grey at the temples and chin. “I know what I want though, you boys done yet?” he looks around and the other men nod except for New Boy.

            The two older men order the breakfast special, while the younger one nearer to New Boy’s age orders fish and chips. “Bucky?” He elbows the New Boy a bit, and Bucky looks up at you from the menu, and then to the others who are sitting with him.  “Boiled dinner, please.”

            “Ham or beef?”

            “What?” he looks at you, completely lost.

            “You can have corned beef or ham. Also comes with a biscuit or a roll if you want.”

            “Uh,” the other men snicker and you see Bucky turn scarlet at the attention. “Ham. And a biscuit is fine.”

            “Alright, won’t be long boys.” You smile and the group thanks you before you put in their order.

           

-

 

“Shy isn’t he?”

            You startle, looking over at Barbara. “What?” you ask. You’d been staring.

            “Bucky. Hardly says a word. You’d think he doesn’t speak at all if he weren’t so polite. Gentleman’s manners, that one.” Barbara pours two sodas and puts them on her tray, walking over to another table.

            Your dad walks out of the back area with two plates and sets them down in front of an elderly couple at the main counter.

            “See the new boy?” he asks you, nudging you with a smile.

            “Hard not to. _Nobody_ in this town is a wallflower, papa.” You can see him from where he sits, and you try not to stare again. “He’s also not a boy.” you add as an afterthought.

            “Young man. Whatever.” He shrugs. “Almost died of hypothermia, but he came through. Boy’s blood runs hotter than a furnace. Got this high-tech looking prosthetic arm that glows blue, too.”

            You fill up a trucker’s mug before you get to work making another pot of coffee. “Did he say where he’s from?” you ask. “And glows blue? You sure you’re not imagining things?”

            “No,” he pokes your arm playfully, “and he’s from Brooklyn. Must be some sort of city university prototype prosthetic.” He looks over at Bucky. “He keeps it covered with his jacket and gloves, though I don’t blame him. It was freezing this morning.”

“Don’t stare papa,”

“M’not!” He holds up his hands innocently “Besides, he says he’d like to stick around for a while, and then he’ll buy a train ticket back home.” The cooks out back ring the bell to signal your father, “He likes it here though, saw him smiling with the other boys this morning.”

“As long as you don’t scare him away.” You laugh when your father bumps into your hip.


	2. There ain't nobody else here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> marvel AU where bucky is happy and healthy and nobody hurts his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some quick chapter notes:  
> this is post-Black Panther so I'm setting it up in a way that assumes Bucky left Wakanda after his winter soldier persona was treated. It'll sort of be explained later, but I wanted to work with a Bucky who seems a bit more open and relaxed since he doesn't have to be afraid of having the winter soldier set off anymore. Though I think he's doing a lot of like...self-evaluation, trying to just take some time for himself before he throws himself back in the middle of all the Avengers Drama. Also I thought it would be neat if he got a new prosthetic that worked off Wakanda's vibranium technology (thanks to Shuri who is an _angel._ PLEASE go see Black Panther for god's sake)  
>  anyways, hey! thanks for reading! 
> 
> Enjoy!

The next morning, you go for a walk with Captain. It’s far from the docks, though the initial step down to the dark sand is still rocky and steep. You throw a tennis ball down the length of the beach, watching Captain enthusiastically chase after it.

The coast is calm, and the air is chilled from last night’s temperature drop. The water is a deep and cold teal, nothing like the clear azure beaches of the south. You’re glad you’re never too far from a view of open water, even while studying near the island of Manhattan. The smell of brine and seaweed is familiar enough for you to see past the initial unpleasantness. You suspect tourists don’t particularly like it – but if someone is brave enough to spend their vacation money on visiting your tiny town over a Caribbean resort…you figure they take it as part of the seaside charm.

The walk along the beach is relatively flat, so it’s easy to spot anyone else perusing the shoreline. You notice a figure up ahead, one that Captain is barrelling towards at an alarming speed. You take off running after him, worried he might scare whichever elderly gentleman is taking a morning stroll.

“Captain!” you call after him, quickly zipping up your coat as you pick up your speed. You should’ve put his leash on him – you’re so _stupid!_

As you get closer however, and your lungs begin to sting, you realize it’s not an elderly man at all. It’s Bucky.

You start to slow down to a jog when you see Bucky smiling at Captain, putting out his right hand to your dog for him to smell before he pets the dark curls of fur on his head. You can hear him speaking encouragingly, his voice gentle, “Hey buddy, how ya doing?”

Bucky glances up at you as you make your way over, your breathing coming out hard. You put your hands on your hips and try not to look like _you totally thought your dog was going to misbehave and scare him._

“Hi.” He says, his smile not completely faded from his features. He’s wearing a thick mariner’s sweater and jacket, with gloves and heavy looking boots. No wonder you thought he was an old man, his clothes are _ancient._

            “Hello,” you say, with a small wave, your chest heaving. “Sorry…guess I should uh, keep him leashed.” You look at Captain and then back up at Bucky. “especially…since I’m clearly…massively out of shape…” you joke.

            His smile is a little crooked and _way_ too charming. “It’s no problem,” he says, and Captain barks once to get Bucky’s attention. “Yes boy, we’re talking about _you,”_ he reaches down and playfully tussles with your dog for a moment. Captain tries to bump Bucky on the nose and you’re mortified.

            “Captain _no._ Be polite.” You put your hands on your hips again. Captain glances back at you, his ears pinned back guiltily, though his tail continues to wag.

            “It’s alright,” Bucky scratches Captain’s ear, “Your dad told me your dog is pretty friendly.”

            “My dad told me you’re from Brooklyn,” you offer, and he glances up at you, his expression a bit more guarded. “I’m going to school there,” you explain, and he seems to relax a bit. “Post-graduate.” You add, though you feel as though you’re just rambling on now.

            “I’ve been travelling lately, haven’t seen much of home.” Bucky replies.

            “Must be pretty desperate for a change of scenery if you ended up in a place like this,” you try for lightness, and it seems to work. He gives you a small smile, giving Captain one last pat before he shoves his hands into his coat pockets.

            “It’s nice here. Quiet. Except for the whole going overboard thing, that was sort of a mistake.” He says, and it sounds surprisingly like an in. As if he’s goading you to ask.

            “I heard. Everyone was worried sick about you, it’s good you’re alright.” You reply, “You’re working with uh, Ernest, right?”

            “Ernest and his nephew Travis, yeah.” he looks out at the water, “I don’t know the other guys’ names yet.”

            “Just helping out at the dock, then?” you ask. He looks at you and nods.

            You look down at your boots, a bit unsure of what to say. “Well,” you look back up at Bucky. He turns, having been looking out at the sea again. “I shouldn’t keep you too long. Ernest always likes getting out on the water early.”

            “Does he?”

            “No idea, but he’s had the same schedule for a hundred years so I guess he won’t stop now.”   

            Bucky looks like he’s about to laugh, but he just looks down at the sand, and then looks back up at you. “Gotcha.”

            You give him a small wave and pat your leg to get Captain’s attention. He nuzzles Bucky’s hand one last time before he chases after you with a bark. 

 

            For the next two weeks, you walk past the boats to your dad’s restaurant _just_ as Bucky is working the docks. It’s not entirely _intentional_ because your dad needs help with the lunch rush but when Bucky catches you staring, you have to force yourself to look ahead and not trip over your own feet.

            “G’morning sweetheart!” Ernest calls to you, having caught Bucky looking up as you walk by.

You give him a polite wave, “Morning fellas, don’t work too hard.” You call out, and Captain barks in agreement. Bucky doesn’t raise his hand like the other boys, but the way his gaze lingers has your face burning hot.

“Ay Bucko, take a picture!” Travis teases, and Bucky looks mortified before he quickly resumes his task. You turn to look back just as Bucky playfully shoves Travis, the early morning air filled with light banter.

 -

A few days later, you’d finished scanning the last of some sea captain’s journals – effectively saving the text from disintegration. Your dad calls you in to help for the dinner rush, promising for the hundredth time that he’d help you move the heavy trunks in the library’s attic.

“Promise me.” You say over the phone, voice stern.

“Yes, I promise dear! Please?”

By the time you get to the restaurant for dinner, your dad’s on the move, taking orders and greeting regulars as they make their way to open booths. You whistle for Captain to sit in the lounge and put on the waitress apron. You tie a bow in front before you search for a pen and paper. Taking a few orders, you chat with some of the customers near the register and then go to the back of the kitchen to fetch more coffee. You stock it at the beverage shelf and when you turn around, you see Bucky sitting at the front counter.

“Evening,” he greets, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the nearby coat hook.

“Hey there, want some coffee?” you ask in reply, and he nods. You set a clean mug down in front of him and reach for the coffee pot, “Not sitting with the others today?”

“No, I uh…I’m being punished.” Bucky replies and you raise a brow. “Your dad…came by while we were unloading some cod earlier.” He looks like he doesn’t want to continue.

“Alright?” you pose it as more of a question, unsure of where this is going. You set the coffee pot down on the warmer and lean your palm on the counter.

“He mentioned you need help moving some storage from the attic?”

You must look furious because Bucky quickly shuts his mouth. “Oh,” you reply. You’re going to _kill_ your dad.

“I didn’t want to overstep,” He looks over to the booth where Ernest and Travis are sitting with two other fishermen. They all wave pleasantly at the two of you, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “But Ernest kicked me outta the table and said I can’t go back until I ask so,”

“Is that so?” you almost want to smile because you know it isn’t Bucky’s fault but you’re pissed off. You’d been asking your dad to help for _weeks_ and he gets another person to do it for you? Out of _guilt?_

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, I…”

You blink in surprise, suddenly aware of how confused he must be at your anger. “Oh my god, no, I’m sorry. Please don’t apologize Bucky.” you touch his right arm where it’s resting on the counter, and he looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin. His left hand bumps his mug and coffee spills across the counter.

“Oh! Shit! Are you okay?” You retract your hand quickly and grab a washcloth as he stutters out an apology, ignoring your concern. Everyone is staring at the two of you as you clean up the mess, and Bucky –

He looks humiliated.

“Buck—” you try to fix it, try to calm him down but he’s already grabbing his coat, heading for the front door. The bell chimes pleasantly to announce his exit, and you groan in defeat. It’s quiet for a beat, with some of the nearby customers whispering amongst themselves. Everyone is so damn nosey, why couldn’t they just mind their own business for _once._

“Hey, are you alright?” your dad asks, coming up behind you with a roll of paper towel.

You shake your head in frustration, throwing the wash cloth into the clean warm water. “You’re such a helper, aren’t you?” you turn to look at him, taking off your apron. “Asked Bucky to help with the trunks? Really papa?”

“Honey he seemed completely fine with it –”

“Not like you asked!” you say back, knowing full well you have the attention of half the restaurant by now. “You just assume! He’s not one of your _boys_ you can just corral into things!”

Barbara comes up behind you and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Go ahead sweetheart, I’ll call Annie in to cover okay?”

“Thank you Barb.” You give your dad one last stinging glare before you whistle for Captain. You catch a glimpse of Ernest watching you with worry at the far booth but you don’t pay him any more mind. You leave through the front door in a hurry, Captain nosing at your clenched fists, balled up in frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [questions or requests? ask here!](https://secret-bee.tumblr.com/)


	3. I just want to lie here

You feel like garbage when you wake up in the morning. You didn’t go out looking for Bucky, figuring you’d just scare him more showing up at his door near midnight. You tug on a sweater and flip on your electric kettle, trying to go about your schedule as usual. You hope he’ll be by the docks again, otherwise you don’t know what you’ll do. Captain comes over with the tennis ball in his mouth and drops it at your feet, his tail wagging in challenge. He hadn’t left your side last night, knowing full well how upset you were at your father.

You have tea and toast for breakfast, lounging at the dining table until you hear a loud thumping coming from the hallway. You open your apartment door and peer over to see Travis looking up at the attic’s entrance.

“Travis?” you say, and the young man turns to look at you. Captain walks out to inspect him, tentatively sniffing Travis’ leg. You grab your jacket and the tennis ball before putting your boots on. “What’re you doing in here? Thought you were out by the dock this morning?” you lock your apartment and shove the keys in your pocket.

“I am. Uncle Ernest asked me to have a looksee at the attic.”

“Why? My dad commission you and your uncle to do the work for him?” you grouse.

“No no, all’s I know is that your dad’s in the busy season of the restaurant right now and felt bad for putting it off. He asked us to do it and Buck seems to like talkin to you, so…”

You pause while tying your laces to glare at Travis, who only puts up his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just repeating what I’ve heard! Don’t shoot the messenger, alright?”

“What is with you boys lately?” you ask, crossing your arms, “You’re borderline harassing poor Bucky. Let him do what he wants.”

“Well that _is_ what he wants, see! Your dad asked all three of us. Buck’s the one who offered. He barely gets a word in with me n’ Ernest talkin’  his ear off but he actually interrupted us to say he’ll do it.” Travis gives Captain a gentle pat. “And the whole restaurant thing – well, uncle Ernest was just bein’ an ass cus Buck second guessed himself.”

            You’d gotten the impression that Bucky would rather be left alone, and so you tried not to well, _pry_ , really. You know you never stop talking, and so you thought trying to get more words out of Bucky would only stress him out more.

            It wouldn’t be the first time you were proven wrong.

 

            (You really really want to be proven wrong.)

 

-

 

            You return to the docks with Travis in tow, not missing the mute relief that passes over Ernest’s face upon seeing you unscathed. You’re genuinely thankful that Ernest doesn’t make a huge fuss about your arrival, because it gives Bucky enough time to see you and react on his own terms. His hair is half in his face, and he’s as unreadable as always.

“Hey,” you point behind you, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Bucky nods, wiping his gloves off with a rag before coming over to stand in front of you. You’re both far enough away that you feel some semblance of privacy, even making sure to angle the two of you behind an information booth to discourage prying eyes.

You let out a deep breath, bracing yourself so you don’t mess up. “First off, I want to apologize for being such a jackass at the restaurant last night,” you say, and Bucky shakes his head.

“It’s not your fault,”

“It _is_ , Bucky. Please let me fix this.” You say, and he gives you a small nod, allowing you to continue. “I wanted to find you last night and say sorry right away but I was afraid it’d just make you more upset. I’m also sorry for touching you, I just made it worse. And I’m sorry that I never shut up,” you add at the end, and you see the corner of his mouth quirk up a little bit. You hold your hands out to signal you’re finished talking.

“Thank you, really, doll.” He says, and the way his mouth opens and closes a couple of times infers that he didn’t mean to let the last word slip out so easily. “You’d know if you upset me.” He adds, trying to move past it.

You look down at your feet, unsure and nervous from the attention. “Hey,” he says softly, and you look up from where your gaze had dropped, “Ernest told me what happened with your dad. If I’d known he was being difficult, I would’ve given him a hard time, too.”

You smile, brushing the hair from your face. “I just…” you look over his shoulder and spot Travis for a moment, “I don’t want anyone around here to make you feel obligated, alright?” you look up at Bucky.

“That’s not why I offered.” He says, and he sounds touched by your concern.  

“I know that now,” you say, and because you can’t resist it you continue, “Travis told me you’re a keener,”

Bucky’s eyes widen before he clears his throat, “Travis says a lot of things.”

“Uh huh.”

He tugs the hood of your jacket down over your nose and you laugh, “You want me to help you with the library storage or not?” he asks, and as you pull your hood back, you can see his grin.

“I’d really really appreciate it, yes.”

“I’ll see you tonight, then.”

You can’t help but smile, your cheeks going pink. “It’s a done deal.”

“Oh,” he tries to gain your attention with a touch to your shoulder before you move away. He leans in like what he’s about to say is some sort of secret for the two of you, “And…I like that you don’t shut up.” Bucky adds.  

 

-

 

             You go into the restaurant and take out an order of hot chicken sandwich for dinner. After perusing the menu for a bit longer, you decide to order a second one in case Bucky shows up at supper time. Your father makes a brief appearance, and though you’re still pissed off because he handed the job over to someone else, you’re just relieved Bucky volunteered out of his own volition. He makes a point of packing two slices of pumpkin pie with your takeout before he gives you a smile and you roll your eyes in reply. You suppose it’s not all bad.

            You open the library door and Captain comes bounding out, giving you a bark before going off to use the bathroom. Stepping inside, you toe off your boots while balancing the takeout boxes in your arms. When you look up, Bucky is turned around in a chair at a study desk, watching you.

            “Hi,” he says, and then you notice the pile of storage boxes near the staircase. The ones from the attic you’d been asking your father to move for months. They were on the main floor.

            “Holy shit,” you forego a proper greeting and point at the trunks.

            “Those were the ones you wanted, right?” he asks, sounding a bit worried.

            “Yes, absolutely. But oh my god Bucky, I was gonna help,” you laugh a bit, and he shrugs.

“It didn’t take very long,”

“Well I guess I would’ve just slowed you down, then.”

“Probably.” He doesn’t bother denying it, and then grins.

You laugh, “How rude. Is that how you talk to a lady who buys you dinner?” you hold out the brown paper bag of takeout and offer it to him.

            He smiles and gets up from the desk, taking the food in one hand and helping you detangle yourself from the collar of your jacket with the other, “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

            “Can’t let you go hungry, could I? Ugh, thanks,” you take your jacket and throw it over the bannister of the staircase. Captain paws at the door outside and you let him back in, shutting the door behind him.

            You’re starving by the time you rip open the container. Bucky opens it and looks at the hot chicken sandwich for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

            “Sorry, I hope this is okay.” You’re suddenly worried he has some sort of rare allergy you’re not aware of. You pass him a couple of napkins and start rustling through another paper bag.

            “No it’s fine, I need uh –” he starts, and you offer him a plastic knife and fork. You start cutting into your food when he replies, “Thanks,” and smiles.

            You give him a thumbs up instead of speaking with your mouth full, and he raises an eyebrow while watching you, clearly amused. You’re too hungry to feel self-conscious, though you’re sure you look like a starved gargoyle by the way you’re hovering over your plate.

            Bucky surprises you again by finishing his dinner first. Your earlier exuberance is lost by the time you’re halfway through the sandwich, your stomach having caught up with your brain. Setting aside the garbage, you and Bucky agree to put the slices of pie in the fridge for later.

            “I didn’t mean to commandeer your desk.” He says sheepishly, once the two of you have returned from the kitchen. He has several books splayed out on the table. You wonder how long it actually took him to move the chests and if he’s just been sitting in the library waiting for you to show up.

            “It’s no problem. Actually, it’s kind of refreshing anyone other than me and the janitor come into the building.” You reply, having gotten comfortable on one of the lounge chairs near the study.

            He smiles, looking down at the floor.

            “Did you…find anything interesting?” you ask.

            “Oh,” he turns around and picks up one of the books, “Sort of. Was reading this one,” he offers it to you. “About the dockyard used to build navy ships.”

            “Oh, yeah,” you take it as you stand up next to him, and flip a couple of pages. “Most of it happened before World War II, but this area was quite the sight for a while. All kinds of ships for mother England,” you make a show of queenly waving your hand. “Though colonialism is obviously common knowledge, I think the sights here are worth visiting. It’s still a cultural thing.”

            “So you’re interested in touristry.”  

            “Well, not personally.” You admit “I like history first and foremost. If I can help share it though, that feels like something. It’s important these places aren’t forgotten.”

He scratches at Captain’s chin, looking pensive. You’re still somewhat shocked Bucky’s just been listening to you this whole time. You’re about to offer him a cup of coffee when he speaks up again.

“My hometown…in Brooklyn. I left for a while, then I came back…” Captain lays down at Bucky’s feet “it was completely different. Didn’t feel like home anymore.”

            You watch him for a moment, “I’m sorry.” You offer.

            He glances up and gives you a gentle smile, “It’s okay. Change isn’t always a bad thing. Well right now it—I just,” he sighs, seeming to struggle for the right words. “It feels like I haven’t stopped in so long. And being here…it’s nice. There’s an easy pace to living here, to working here.”

“I’ve heard that before,” you smile, “It feels like a whole other universe sometimes.”

You watch Bucky absently. It's nice to see him so relaxed, but something about him is somber. He looks scruffier than when he first arrived, the longest parts of his hair pulled back in a halfhearted attempt at a bun. He's on his way to a full beard, too. He's handsome, and you wonder if --

He looks back at you, and you hurriedly blabber an excuse about return some of the books to their proper shelves. You know you've been caught, but he doesn't say a word.

You wonder, idly, if he knows his eyes are the color of the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking around, folks!!  
> [questions or requests? ask here!](https://secret-bee.tumblr.com/)


	4. Left our homes, left our friends

**July**

 

            Midsummer passes in relative silence. You spend your free time preoccupied with the books and documents found in the newest storage boxes. Captain still reminds you to take breaks, walking along the shores near the library. It would be smart to work yourself to the bone – to meet your deadlines so that the town has a bit more money coming in from the finished tourist project.

But then again, perhaps all things move slow in small towns for a reason.

 

It’s Thursday morning when you’re drying a chipped mug with a tartan dishtowel, peering out at the front windows as the boys off the docks make their way into the restaurant for lunch. Captain takes off running through the front door before you’ve even noticed he’s gone. And then you can see him running down the planked entrance, and straight at Bucky.

Barbara joins you at the window with a tray, picking up leftover cutlery.

            “I think Captain likes Bucky more than he likes me,” you joke, never taking your eyes off them.

Barbara straightens out and laughs, “Oh I think you have your admirers,”

You glance at her just as she _winks_ , and you scoff, returning to your own task. You bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to smile. Turning back to the counter, you put the mug away and then peer back out of the window.

And it’s almost funny how Bucky chooses that moment to look back up. Your cheeks turn pink and you can hear Barbara snickering near you before you elbow her. She only laughs in reply – solidifying the implication.

Bucky opens the door for Captain, who bounds back into the restaurant without a care in the world. He barks once and you quickly tut him for making noise indoors. He only wags his tail at you, trotting off to find his water dish.

And then there’s Bucky, cheeks red from the cutting cold of the coast. Ernest, Travis, and the rest of the boys follow him in, taking seats at various booths. You catch Bucky’s eye and he doesn’t sit down, walking over to the counter instead. He smiles and you feel your stomach flip.

“Morning.”

“Good morning.” you reply. He doesn’t seem to know what to say, or what to do.

You clear your throat, “Coffee?” you ask. He nods, seeming relieved, taking a seat on one of the bar stools. Barbara thankfully leaves you in peace, off to take orders at the booths.

Bucky twists his arm a bit, and you can see him wince.

“You alright?” you ask, and he looks up, a bit surprised at you noticing his discomfort.

“Joints are just sore. I’m alright.” You pour him the coffee and he gives a small thanks.

“It’ll be nice this afternoon, the sun’ll warm up your shoulders.” you offer and then put the coffee pot back into the machine, offering Bucky the creamers. “You want something to eat?”

He puts down his mug, “I had breakfast already.” he replies, and your smile falters, confusion taking over.

“Oh.” you say, wiping your hands on your apron. “Come to see Captain, then?” you joke.

“In a manner of speaking,” he looks down at the coffee and then takes a glance up at you.

            You’re certain your cheeks are as red as beets.

            “Ernest is letting me borrow his truck on Sunday. Said I could take it for a spin and see the rest of the coast.” he looks down at his lap, where he’d put his worker’s gloves, squeezing them between his hands. “I, uh, was wondering if you’d be interested in joining me.”

And before you get a chance to reply, he seems to nervously try to correct himself, “As payback for dinner?”

You bite your lip, and then you smile, “Dinner was payback for you pulling those trunks.” you say back, almost enjoying the way he’s twitching.  

“Right.” he says.

“Why don’t I pack us a lunch for the trip, and we’ll call it even?” you offer, and the smile he gives you in return is enough to make you laugh.

 

* * *

 

            On Sunday, Bucky helps you load your oversized picnic basket into the back seat of the truck. You can tell he wants to sneak a peek at the food you brought, but he opens the back door and Captain bounds in next to the basket. He gives you a quick bark and then Bucky rolls down the window for him before opening your door for you. 

            It’s when you exit off the main road of the town that he speaks, “What’s the mason jar for?” he asks, as you place it in the cup holder between the two of you.

            “Beach glass.”

            “I’m starting to get the impression you’re a hoarder.”

            You open your mouth wide, in shock, “It’s for _you!”_ Captain notices your excitement and pokes his head from the backseat.

            “Me?” he laughs, looking at Captain and then at you, “What do I do with it?”

            “Beats me, I’m just trying to give you the coastal experience.” you fold your arms over your chest, feigning defensiveness.

            He laughs again, a bit harder.

            “Stop laughing! It’s really a thing!” you say, trying and failing to hold back a smile of your own.

            “I don’t doubt it’s a thing, doll,” he gives you a teasing grin, and when Captain pokes his head near Bucky’s shoulder, he gives him a quick scratch under the chin affectionately.

            You smile fondly, “People around here all have jars full of beach glass decorating their kitchen windowsills.” you say, getting comfortable in the passenger seat. Captain returns to the back seat and lies down next to the picnic basket.

Bucky turns on the radio and quickly tunes it away from the syrup-twangy country that Ernest keeps on loop. He settles on something with light acoustic, and then turns the volume down low.

“How’re your shoulders?” you ask.

“Better, thanks.” he gives a gentle smile. “It’s been warm this week.”

“You’re learning to talk about the weather when there’s nothing else to talk about, you really _are_ one of us.”

“You’re a very good teacher.” he replies, and you look out the window, shoving away the growing feeling in your stomach that demands you kiss him.

            Bucky drives for an hour, tapping his fingers to the music as you point out landmarks you think he may find interesting. He parks at a small cut-out in the road used as a rest stop for truckers to let Captain out for a break. Bucky comes around and unhooks the back door of the pickup so the two of you can sit down on the edge of it for lunch. When your dog comes back, you show Bucky how to balance a piece of cheese on Captain’s nose.  

            And then you’re back on the road, driving for another hour before you find a familiar beach to stop at.

            It’s a cove you visited with your parents several times, and a perfect place to find sea glass. So Bucky lets Captain out again and the three of you walk down to the beach. It’s truly a northern beach, no resort in sight. Lots of pebbles and salty mist that leads down to dark sand and cold water. Bucky chucks Captain’s tennis ball down the length of the beach, close to where the water laps at your feet and the rocks turn into sand.

            You take your time in combing along the bigger rocks for beach glass. Bucky comes back around and drops a handful of glass into the jar, laughing when you look up at him flabbergasted.

            “Should’ve brought a bigger jar.” he teases, and you shove him until his feet splash through the incoming waves. His expression changes, a dark smile creeping up on his features.

“Bucky don’t you dARE!” your voice pitches high when he runs after you and picks you up. You laugh, and Captain barks, wagging his tail. “You’ll make me lose the glass!”

“You should be more worried about losing your boots, doll!” he spins you, forcing you to hold onto his jacket for dear life. He shows mercy eventually, placing you back onto wet sand, and you’re high on your own happiness when you reach out for his hand.

            There’s a pause between the two of you, when Bucky is looking down at your hand and you’re looking up at him. But he smiles, his chest heaving with the effort, and then he gingerly takes hold of your outstretched hand into his own.

Warm and solid and safe.  

           

* * *

 

 

            The mason jar is full by the time you’re walking back to the truck. Bucky lets go of your hand to bend over and pick up something between the craggy rocks.

            He holds out a cracked stone, purple-tinged crystal barely visible between his fingers.

            “Oh you’re lucky!” you say, smiling up at him. “Looks like you found a bit of amethyst.”

            He raises an eyebrow at you.

            “This place used to be full of it. Tourists comb the whole beach looking for just a little piece.” you look out at the water, “I used to come here with my parents and found all sorts when I was a kid. Now it’s almost all gone.”

            Bucky silently offers it to you when you turn back to look at him but you shake your head, closing his fist around it. “Keep it, Buck. It’s a souvenir.”

            As if somehow those words slipped out without your permission. A souvenir for when he leaves.

            “I want you to have it.” he says, gently taking a hold of your wrist with his free hand, unclasping his metal fist as an offering. “Proof that it’s not all gone. And as thanks for the beach glass.”

            And so you take it from his outstretched palm, putting it carefully in the pocket of your windbreaker.

 

 

 

            “If I decorate the house with it, Captain might try to eat it.”

            “Please don’t let your dog eat the rock.”


	5. Left the walls we lived in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”
> 
> ― Oscar Wilde

 

“You get the paper this morning?” you ask your dad, taking a sip of coffee while you eat pancakes at the main counter.

            “It’s probably shoved with the rest of the mail out back, I’m afraid, my dear. Not too many people ask for the Tuesday paper. Usual fighting is over Saturday’s crossword.”

            “I’ll grab it, then.” you say, pushing your empty plate over to your father, hopping off your stool.

            When you round the corner and go into the back area of the restaurant, your phone starts to ring.

            You pick up after checking the screen, “Hey mom,” you move to hold your cellphone between your ear and your shoulder as you pry the mailbox open.

            “How’s my little archivist?” she replies cheerily.

            “I’m good – avoiding the cabin fever.”

            “Oh honey why don’t you go for a drive? The coach bus should be coming around in a few days. Take a trip up to the city.”

            You hold back a smile, keeping your mouth shut about the trip you already took last weekend, “I really really need to finish these boxes of microfiche cards but that sounds tempting,” you whistle for Captain and wave goodbye to your father before heading back to the library.

You switch ears with your cellphone and, while juggling the newspaper from one hand to another, catch the heavy font of the cover story. Your mother’s voice fades out as you read over the title:

 

**WAKANDA OR ELSEWHERE? CIA CONTINUES HUNT FOR WINTER SOLDIER’S DISAPPEARANCE**

           

You unfold the newspaper and look straight at a photo of a man who looks identical to one Bucky Barnes.

You can hear your mother gaining an inquisitive tone with your lack of reply, but you can’t seem to make up another excuse.

             “Hey mum, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

 

* * *

 

            You remember when news hit about the destruction of the Triskelion in Washington. It was the only thing reported on for months. You’d been a fresh-faced undergrad student. One of your professors, who specialized in the art of war though the centuries, took it upon himself to bring it up during a lecture. He talked about HYDRA and the rise of Nazi sentiment that lived long past the end of World War II. Something so nearly catastrophic never really goes away.

It was summertime when the bombing in Vienna happened. Your dad had put a channel ban on the television in the lounge of the restaurant: food network or sports news _only._ Even when you went back to school in the fall, The Joint Counter Terrorist Centre kept tabs on every major city in the US. Their search for the Winter Soldier didn’t feel like it was a continent away.

But something doesn’t feel right – like you’re allowing yourself to be willfully ignorant. You fold the newspaper back up and tuck it under your arm, whistling for Captain to follow after you.

You kick off your shoes and when you get to the library. Bucky’s pouring over a few anthologies of English literature you’d found per his interests. He looked so…domicile. When he hears you come in, he peers over and gives you a relaxed smile.

“Cold?” he asks.

“Not too bad,” you say. “I’m gonna make coffee. You want coffee?” you ask and he nods. He must sense something is wrong because he isn’t smiling anymore.

When you’re in your apartment, you go through the motions of making a new pot of coffee as an excuse to think of exactly what you’re supposed to say to him. He’s standing between the threshold of the kitchen and the main living space, his hands in his pockets, though his posture is stiff.

“You were in the paper this morning,” you say, and then dare to glance up at him.

It seems to take Bucky a second, but you can see his jaw working – unsure. You take the newspaper out and hand it to him, trying for nonchalance. He takes it carefully, unfurling it and looking at the front page.

“No one else saw it.” You say, taking out two mugs. He’s still reading the article, and remains silent for a long moment.

“I’m sorry.” You say, the coffee starting to brew. That makes Bucky look up.

“Why are you sorry?”

            “I don’t know,” you offer a humorless laugh. You pause, staring at the floorboards, “When I saw your picture I thought – somehow I wouldn’t be able to ask you why.” You look over at him, “Like you’d disappear before I could ask.”

Bucky shakes his head, his eyebrows knitting together, “It’d be better if I did.”

“Don’t say that – please.”

            “Why not? People are right to be afraid of me.”

            “That’s not why I showed you.”

            “Then why?”

            “Because I care about you!” you say indigently. He blinks, looking completely lost. It baffles you. This man absolutely baffles you.

“You do a piss poor job of being a dangerous guy, Buck.” you tilt your head and start counting off your fingers, “A guy who’s trying to disappear wouldn’t come to a town where everyone knows your name. He wouldn’t befriend the nosiest people on this god forsaken earth,” you give a humorless chuckle, “and he definitely wouldn’t hang out with a wannabe historian.”

            Bucky looks like he wants to laugh, but he settles into one of the chairs instead, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion. He groans, wiping his face with his hands.

            “I just wanted to stop running. I just…” Bucky squeezes the bridge of his nose. “After everything that’s happened, I still feel lost. I wanted things to stay the same for _five minutes.”_

            “Well, you came to the right place for that.” You can’t help but snark, “Welcome to the most obsolete town in all of existence. The most recent invention here is electricity.”

            He looks at you for a long time, his eyes studying you with such scrutiny you almost look away but you’re determined now. And then Bucky smiles.

            “You have an American history section in this old place?”

            You finish pouring out the two cups of coffee before you glance over your shoulder with a smile. “Now what kind of historian would I be without the classics?”  

  

* * *

 

He looks the same. Hair cropped short, his jaw defined without the beard he’d been growing since arriving months ago. Bucky Barnes, the guy whose been helping on the dock, the guy who likes wearing grandfather clothes, the guy who sneezes every time he crawls out of the library attic, the guy who orders boiled dinner after every catch –

He was standing next to Captain America in a textbook, eyes bright and so _different_ from how he looks now.

 

_Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country._

 

            The two of you spend the rest of the day clearing up the fog of who the town thought he was. Whenever you asked a new question, Bucky would get this strange look on his face, like he’s always expecting the worst.

You don’t ask him questions about HYDRA or the experiments or what he remembers about the Triskelion incident.

You ask him about growing up in Brooklyn, you ask him about his favorite restaurant in the city, you ask him what he used to do on Saturday nights. You ask him if technology is hard for him to get and he laughs – he _laughs._  

            He tells you about Steve, and Christmas in Brooklyn. He tells you about the movies he used to see and the festivals he used to go to. And then near the end, he tells you about the other members of the Avengers who tried to keep him from Secretary Ross.

            “I left Wakanda after Shuri told me I’d be okay and I didn’t tell Steve. I went back to New York.” Bucky looks past your shoulder, out the far window. “I stood this close,” he points to the entrance of the study area in the library, less than ten steps away. “From the corner of the street I grew up on. And I couldn’t.” he looks at you, and gives you a wry smile. “I couldn’t do it, so I left.”

            “It felt too different?”

            “I just wasn’t ready yet. I’ve been chased and I’ve been transported and, yeah, I’ve been healed but there’s been no time in between.”

            “To process.” You offer, and he nods. You sit down on the sofa and nestle into a ball, watching him.

            “I bought a train ticket north. I was told it’d take me up the scenic side of the east coast.” he says, settling in next to you on the sofa. “After the fifth stop, I didn’t pay attention to the city names anymore. I got off the train eventually and kept going further and further north, whatever means possible.”

“And here I thought you were a tourist who slipped and fell off the cove.” You muse.

“You’re mean, you know that?” he says, but his laughter betrays his words.

You smile back at him, and then you sigh. “C’mon, let’s get some air.”

 

            The sun is barely still over the horizon when you step out of the library. The water is glazed in oranges and yellows, refracting the last warm bits of daylight.

            Bucky throws a tennis ball down the beach for Captain and you stop, watching his shoulders work before they drop, and he turns to look at you.

“I’m the only one who knows.” You supply, wondering if you’ve caught onto his line of thinking.

            He smiles. “That’s not what I was going to ask.” He assures you, walking back to you and standing close enough to touch.

            “Still,” you take hold of his hand in your own, and the deliberate brush of his thumb over your knuckles is enough to send a thrill through your veins.

“You haven’t told anyone?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“Why would I?”, you look up at him, “Only people who would even suspect a thing are those who _actually_ own cellphones. People here worship the landline.”

“My kind of people, then.” He gives a tentative smile.

“Bill has a rotary phone up at the lodge, if you’re really feeling nostalgic, old man.”

He laughs at that, his eyes bright with humor. “You’re not mean. Now you’re just being cruel.”

 

* * *

  

The sea has settled into slumber by the time Bucky escorts you back to the library. You open the door to let Captain inside and then click it back shut. And although you’ve spent days and weeks with this man, it’s the first time Bucky looks genuinely peaceful.

“Well I’ll…” you trail off, wishing with all your heart that you had the guts to do it but knowing you couldn’t possibly handle the rejection. Bucky trusts you. And potentially breaking that trust is something you refuse to risk. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Bucky puts a hand out and touches your cheek affectionately, brushing your hair behind your ear and it’s like your heart sings.

“See you.” he says, and gives his patented crooked smile before stepping back and starting back to town.

You watch him leave for a moment before you get a hold of yourself and open the door to the library, slipping inside.

With the door shut, you lean back on it and sigh, the only noises in the building are the grandfather clock and the distant sound of the dog getting ready for sleep.

“Tea, I need tea,” you murmur, locking the door. But as soon as you step away from it, two knocks come. 

You unlock the door again and open it, and it takes everything in you not to _hope –_

But Bucky is standing in front of you again.

“Bucky,” you say, not bothering to hide the surprise in your voice when he steps past the threshold of the door. “I thought –” and he leans forward in your personal space until his mouth is on yours. Bucky kisses you, one of his hands is holding your back steady, the other one pushing the door closed behind him. Your arms are frozen in place for a moment, but you move your hands to tentatively run up his chest, fingers ghosting through the back of his hair. You vaguely hear the door click closed behind him but you can't find the mind to care.You wrap one of your arms around his neck to bring him closer and he huffs out a breath when he loses his balance a moment, his metal arm reaching out to brace against the wall. 

            There’s no earthly reason why you had waited this long to kiss him. You caught yourself staring at his mouth too many times to count, and he’s been growing a _beard_ for Christ’s sake. You find the scratch of it on your skin altogether too pleasant to even think about stopping. And so you stay in his arms, wishing for all the time in the world to savour this rare moment with him.

            Bucky seems to change his mind several times about ending the kiss because he keeps pressing his mouth to yours, a bit gentler now that the initial desperation seems to have passed.

            His nose rests against your cheek and you shudder, unable to stop yourself from tilting your head to kiss him again. And when you stand on your tip toes to chase his mouth, you feel a ghost of a smile before he accepts your offer.

            When he finally manages to extricate himself from you, he brushes your hair from your face and the intimacy makes you burn.

            “G’night doll.” he says.

            You swallow, and then you take hold of his hand, leaning in for a last time. He looks at you with open affection now, allowing you to step into his personal space and kiss him again.

“Good night Bucky.”


End file.
